Meenahsturbation
by Nidoran Duran
Summary: Meenah sits in front of a mirror and reflects on how she's the best lover she could possibly have.


Your name is Meenah Peixes, and you are one smoking hot piece of bass.

So hot, in fact, that you've found your imagination doesn't really do it for you anymore. Given enough time, you've stopped finding much interest in images of pailing with Aranea, or even of letting Porrim take you for a spin if she promises to worship her future empress. Even the new intrigues of the louder, nubbier Vantas eager to prove himself worthy of a position as her threshecutioner by any means necessary, or of blackromming that bitchier Serket girl until she's put into her place, don't hold enough thrill for you to get off anymore.

The only thing that can truly thrill you is yourself. It's weird, but nothing gets you hotter than being the fine bitch you are, and celebrating that fact. You want to treat yourself like a queen, since none of the losers you're stuck in dream bubble exile with are offering, except for Ampora, but unless he turns inside-out and becomes an entirely new, non-slimy being, you're not touching him with the pointy bits of your trident. But that's okay, you're better at pleasing yourself then they could be, anyway.

You're slumped in front of a big mirror, eyes firmly on your reflection. You're fully clothed, and not even doing anything particularly sexy, aside from sitting down and being as hot as you always are. You soak in your gorgeous form, including the wonderful contour of your waist. That's where you start, because your black t-shirt does nothing to flatter it, and you gently ease it up from the hem, exposing your bare, grey midriff to yourself.

"I think a sea a total babe over there," you chuckle to yourself, and pull the shirt a little higher, fingers running along your stomach, sexy stomach. It was a good idea to keep fit before you unexpectedly died, because it means you get to spend the rest of eternity as the hottest troll stuck in purgatory. You and your voyeuristic reflection take their shirts off in tandem, until finally discarding them, until you're wearing nothing above your nicely-curved waist but a lacy pink bra.

Your skin is so wonderfully smooth, and you easily get lost in feeling all over. It's not even sexual, but it turns you on because of just how amazing you are to all senses. Eventually you undo your bra because you're bound to get there eventually and there's no point in leaving it on while you're in the area. It stays on though, the cups leaning loosely off of your breasts, and you wait for them to fall off in the process of rubbing your soft arms. Such smooth flesh, wonderful to the touch, and only the fact that between your legs you can feel the ache growing do you not just curl up and rub your arms until they're sore.

By the time you're done, your bra's only dangling by a single wrist, and you gladly toss it to your rather attractive onlooker, only for her to do the same and have them meet in the middle, falling together to the floor. "You're somefin really sexy you know that?" Of course you do; the question's rhetorical.

You treat your breasts just as slowly as everything else so far. For as impatient and temperamental as you can be, the one area you can't take anything but slow is the matter of getting yourself worked up. If you just rubbed your arms really fast you'd get nothing from them, but a slow, loving caress can make any part of your body an erogenous zone if you dig deep enough. By the time to get to your breasts, you're tingling all over with sensations that are just the beginning.

Slowly, your touch grows more forceful, a steady increase that feels natural, until you finally slip two fingers around your nipples and find they're already hard. Your gossamer-soft fingertips rub the sensitive buds and you let out the first moan of the evening, a slow and rumbling affair. Everything in your body eases up, and you could only feel better if you were in a steaming hot bath after a long day of trying to desperately get someone to do what you asked them to. Your eyes close and you bask in the reward for your slow build.

If you were pailing, you could never bring yourself to go this slowly with someone else, and you'd probably have to keep from lunging at anyone trying to do the same to you and just taking them. It's only with a night to yourself, without the pretence of having to be something in particular to somebody, that you can pull this off. Even the sight of yourself, biting down on your lower lip and really starting to give your breasts some real physical attention, as hot as it gets you, isn't enough to break your focus.

Only after what feels like forever do you release your breasts, not because of boredom or even the desperate urge to ease all the aching tension at your groin, but just because it feels like it's time. Everything is perfectly laid out and orchestrated, and you let the tides bring you where they wish, guiding you on when it 'feels right' to proceed to the next step. They've never steered you wrong before, and it's a plunge you take willingly, because every time leaves you seemingly more of a wreck than the last.

Your pants slip off slowly, and as you ease them down your legs you purr and pay your reflection another compliment. It's looking even sexier with every passing moment after all, and that smile grows wider every time you flash one of your own back at it. Adorabloodthirsty mirror Meenah, kicking her pants away with all the style and dripping, raw sexuality that she prides herself on. Seeing just how hot you look makes you feel bad for the others, because how they're able to keep their hands off of such a sexy beast is beyond you.

While boxer shorts aren't sexy, you're sort of proud that you have to wear them, because smaller, more feminine undergarments couldn't comfortably hold your bulge anymore. Some trolls see it as a blessing, and you're definitely one of them, because even the baggy, plain white underwear can't hide the writhing of your bone bulge. While there were probably some nicer-looking options, you like the way that the stray drops of fuchsia cum your arousal has already beckoned so up clearly against the white.

You stop touching yourself, just to watch the reflection of the bulge writhing against its prison. You don't bother trying to control it, because its own instinctual motions are so much hotter than anything you'd make it do. You've heard Damara boasting about making hers do tricks before, but you're certain that the uninhibited wriggling of your own looks far more impressive. Especially once, by sheer chance, it pushes long enough in one direction to slip out of the hem from one leg and stick out of the boxers as far as it can go, getting a few more drops of genetic material on your leg.

Seeing how desperate your tentacle is, you finally relent and slip your boxers off, and your patience is wavering a little because you take them off quickly and desperately, instead of alluringly slow. You're slipping, but you don't care too much about it because with one last kick you're fully naked in front of the mirror, and oh glub you are just the hottest thing on any number of legs. Your bulge wriggles freely, and right below it is your nook, which is by far the prettiest nook you've ever laid eyes on. It's a shame there isn't someone to just eat it out for you whenever you catch the whim, because you're pretty sure that abusing that type of power would never get old.

Your fine ass slides along the tiled floor a little as you slump a bit more, legs parting and your entire body becoming lazier. You're almost high on your own narcissism by now, but you can't see how it or the redefinition of "high on yourself" is anywhere close to a bad thing. Lightheaded and incredibly turned on, you start fingering your nook, going very slowly at first, just watching the hottie in the mirror at work. It's not as slow as you'd usually go, but it's still not the frantic near-fisting that you're tempted to go for. The high is so amazing it's making you cautious, and giving you the worry that if you try to race through it, it'll all come undone.

Your bulge continues to sway, reacting to the treatment of your nook by wondering why it isn't getting any of the action. It's one of the many times you wish it didn't have the slightest bit of its own mind about this sort of thing, a biological reflex that couldn't be helped. It coils around your wrist, squeezing it tightly as the tip slithers between your fingers and dips into your nook. Your body really doesn't give a carp about how slow you want to take it anymore, and as much as you want to complain, the way it's tugging at your hand to make you rub your slit more eagerly is too hot and perfect to ignore.

The coiling eases up, letting it get into position, before clenching your wrist even tighter and getting more of your bulge inside of you. Your fingers follow, because this is that 'swept away' thing, and you don't have enough control over your tentacle for this to be something you decided to do. It's all sweet biological impulses, and no matter how shaky a rationale it is, your resolve is absolutely shattered now that you have three fingers and a couple inches of bulge inside of you. Giving in to sensation has never felt so good, and you surrender control of that hand to your cock, because it seems to have your best interests at heart.

Slowly, you slip a little further, easing down a flatter position as you fuck and fingerfuck yourself in tandem. There's no point in being quiet, so you let yourself know just how good a job you're doing by moaning as loudly as you feel like. There's nobody around, and even if there was, the great pleasure boiling inside of you matters a lot more than they do. Serket could be standing in front of you giving one of her long, mindlessly boring lectures and you'd care even less than usual. In fact, your length of ignoring her in favour of watching yourself would go so far you'd probably even slip a bit further down to peek between her legs at the sight of your hot nook getting the royal treatment.

By time time your bulge is satisfied, four fingers are in to the last knuckle and your dick is just a bit deeper than that. Your waist is off the floor, eagerly meeting the penetration with more physical need than you'd be willing to show to anyone but yourself. The sounds coming out of your lips are too hot for anyone's ears to handle, like the vast glub if it were just sexier than anyone's brain to comprehend. You're amazing, and can fuck yourself better than any troll could, so why would you even need to worry about trying to hook up with one anymore? Only thing you can't do is suck your own bulge.

Unless...

Sea trolls' spines were bendier than those of normal trolls. It was always plenty of fun to have a laugh at Cronus's expense over it, tell him to go suck his own bulge, until you found out he had indeed done so, and then it wasn't funny so much as sad. You aren't sad though; you're a fabulous and dead sexy troll, especially slumped on the floor with your glasses crooked, pleasuring yourself. It's not that you can't get any, it's just that you can't get any good enough, and you're damn certain everyone wants a piece of your fine ass.

Slowly you slither back up until you're upright against the wall, keeping your eyes on yourself the whole time. It takes a little tugging a lot of willpower, but you manage to get your bulge under control, and it stands mostly upright for you, a bit of wobble and wriggle still present, but nothing you can't handle. Then, you ease yourself down, bending from the waist as far as you can go. Lucky for you, your unreasonable and biologically dubious flexibility pays off, and before you know it, your bulge is wriggling against your cheek. It leaves some cum across your face, but it's less noticeable when you look in the mirror, because the sight is so amazing that you're blushing, and your blood colour shows through to drown out the genetic material.

Before you even fully have your hand around the base, your shaft is already seeking out the source of the warm, wet breath running down its side, and slithers against your lips teasingly as you begin to stroke it. You're not even nervous, because everything about this experience has given you even more confidence than you thought you could ever contain, and you're ready to prove to yourself just how amazing you are. A lick to your tip invites it in, and eagerly it slithers past your lips with the intention of finding release for its payload. Your mouth closes around it, lips forming a round, tight seal that ensures no matter how thick it gets as you go down, you'll always be nice and firm around it. You don't fuck around with sucking bulge, especially not with your perfect specimen.

The drops of pre you'd left a few inches into your nook start to come out as the contracting inner walls shift it about. Your free hand reaches down there and starts rubbing the rim of your perfect slit again. Only a bad lover neglects both, and you're the best lover left in the universe. Even better than Porrim, you'd wager. Maybe some day you should tie that quadrant-playing rainbow drinker down and fuck her until she concedes your brilliance. As the slick, sticky fingers return inside of you, you find you're emptier now, and the magic isn't there as much. It certainly is for your bulge, but your nook's just as sensitive to your magic touch. Your thumb provides a temporary solution, but you know you'll need more before long.

Your glasses slip down your nose again, and seamlessly, you slide your hand up your bulge, fingertips dragging lovingly up the flesh, and you release for just an instant to push them back up without disturbing anything about your personal treatment, before re-gripping and sliding back down. It's a pity nobody's around to see it because it's pretty amazing how smooth you are. Your head bobs along the wriggling, restless appendage as you suck deeper, and you're impressed by just how far down you're able to go without any trouble.

It slithers inside of your mouth, desperately seeking out the warmth and wetness of it, eager to rub against every inch of it, and there's nothing about it you don't absolutely love. You don't resent it for having a mind of its own because its mind has a lot of really good ideas that are on the same wavelength as you are, leaving you always satisfied with its decisions.

The further you push down, the further your lips part to accommodate the progressively thicker length slithering into your mouth. You think you have the entire process perfected, and bob your head in steady time, letting it do a fair amount of the pushing itself. It's a shame you'd never suck anyone's bulge, because you're amazing at it, as with everything else. In fact, you're not sure you can even get head again, because then you'd lose the feeling of giving, too. It's all just so perfectly coming together, reaffirming that the only one who can ever truly satisfy you is you.

Your eyes can't bring themselves to look away from the mirror. Watching you blow yourself while slowly easing your entire hand into your nook-and you're already almost wrist-deep-just completes it all for you. Your entire body lights up in lust-drunk sensation, and your mind starts racing with ways you can improve on it. For all you've gone well beyond anything you've felt before, it's not enough to sate your greed. Cumming isn't even enough; it needs to be the most glorious release any troll has ever felt.

The realization comes to you in a flash of brilliance just as you get up to the wrist into your nook. Sucking and being sucked are both great, but to really top it off, you need something a little harder. Awkwardly, you try to roll onto your back, and it takes a few tries because of the position you're in, but soon enough you're lying on your shoulders, perfect ass up in the air, braced against the wall, knees just barely avoiding digging uncomfortably into your shoulders, and you're ready to facefuck yourself straight to the most perfect moment of your un-life.

You run into a bit of trouble trying to figure out which muscles you're using, because you've never been in this position, and never need to thrust while folded and upside-down. While you do, you just work deeper into your nook, starting to get a solid rhythm going so that you can match it with your hips. You manage to go deep, and it feels pretty amazing; your bulge may be long, but it can't get quite as deep or bend well enough to give you a proper fucking. Not the same problem here, and you gladly start fisting yourself with desperate fervour.

There's no more pretence of trying to go at any speed other than the one your body is screaming at you to go, the fast, hard, and reckless pace that will leave you spasming on the floor once all's said and done. In this new position you can't even admire yourself in the mirror, but you're past that now. Your hips rock up, and when you slam back down into your hungry mouth your body shudders in amazement. You're not sure if you're topping or bottoming, subbing or domming, and while you're probably doing all four at once the only thing that's certain is that you're the absolute best.

It surprises you a little just how easily you're able to thrust in what's not a very good position. You build up a good, heavy pace, and your bulge slams into your mouth each time with enough force to have you trembling before long. You suck and slurp on it with a desperation that you'd never give another, and you're pretty sure that you're your own bitch now, working for nothing more than the messy explosion all over your face of the throbbing tentacle you pay sloppy-but-amazing lip service to.

You suck your cock and fist your nook in tandem, and at the peak of each hard push down is a wonderful feeling of fullness, but it's a fleeting and swiftly gone sensation you chase with each thrust desperately. Each time you hit it again for a fraction of a second, you feel at your best, and the way your bulge is now reacting more spastically and jerking around in your mouth, tells you that it's all working. It's a race to the finish now, and as you get enough dick past your lips to not have enough room to stroke, your hand resigns itself to digging nails into your thigh, topping off the array of wonder with just a tinge of sweet, solid pain.

When you cum, it's everything you imagined it would be. Your bone bulge jerks and throbs in your mouth, and the torrent of royal, fuchsia cum fills your mouth. Despite the eager clutching of your nook, you pull your fist out quickly, because you can feel your absurd stillness come to an end amidst the bliss. You spasm and twist, hips jerking up far enough that the tentacle pulls out of your mouth, and tops off the mouthful of genetic material with more messy spurts, though these also end up spattered across your face and lopsided glasses, leaving you screaming, "I love you!" to yourself and thrashing about while you treat your face like a pail.

When it finally ends, you let your body straighten out again and lie naked on the floor, occasionally wiggling about as another muscle swoons and begs you to roll with the pleasure still idly coursing through you. The afterglow is electric, and you lie there, staring up at the ceiling and reflecting on how great a lover you are until it's over. Amidst it all, you wonder if anyone knows how to alchemize mirrors, because you'd love to get them up there and be able to watch the self-facefucking next time.

There has to be a next time, of course. You proved yourself the only troll that could please you, and there was so much more to explore. Maybe next time you'd get creative and use your braids for a little auto-erotic asfishiation.


End file.
